Almost
by avorialair
Summary: Impossible? Nah, that’s nothing. The Doctor can do impossible in his sleep. Frequently has, too. Some angsty but eventual feelgood stuff with Rose and Ten set after “Doomsday”. [Complete]
1. Part One

_**Summary**: Impossible? Nah, that's nothing. The Doctor can do impossible in his sleep. Frequently has, too. Some angsty but eventual feel-good stuff with Rose and Ten set after "Doomsday". May or may not lead to smut. We'll see. I can, however, promise a happy ending. Because I'm like that._

_**Characters**: Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Mickey Smith, Jackie Tyler, Peter Tyler._

_**Rating**: T._

_**Genre**: Romance, Angst, Fluff, Suspense._

_**Spoilers**: "Doomsday" of season two. Picks up almost right where it left off._

_**Disclaimer**: Doctor Who is nothing of mine. All the BBC's creation and ownership. Believe me, it's something I cry about on a daily basis. But it's probably just as well, because I couldn't come up with the fantastic storylines anyway._

**A/N**: _This story wrote itself. Honestly, it did. I stayed up 'til gone two in the morning, having frantically scribbled in my notebook for two hours flat. And I'm still going. Hope you like._

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**Almost, Part One**

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It still hasn't quite sunk in. She sits in the back of the van, its wheels crunching on the road below, quiet and alone. Surrounded by people who love her, yet still totally alone. Even her tears can't betray her.

She does not cry. She does not speak. She does not dream. Conversations are thin on the way back. Mickey sits with her, holding her hand, but his touch is numb. Her mum asks fleeting questions about how and why He came back, that one last time. What he said to her. When he'll be back again. Rose can't quite bring herself to answer.

She hears the words, hears the sounds make sense in her mind – but she does not listen. Neither does she reply. She just sits, eyes forward and face impossible to read. She's a blank canvas, the artist having given up and walked away before he's even begun.

Sometimes the Doctor would fall into that expression. He would wear an invisible mask, a barrier, and it was impossible to read his emotion. It would be both so much and so little that no word could describe it. Perhaps the emotion itself transcended human contemplation, human understanding. Perhaps he was still very, very alien to her. Or perhaps he was just good at pretending. Rose has learned this from him, one of a million lessons he has taught her, and now Mickey feels what she used to as he gazes at her uncarved, pure face. A slight frown flickers across him for the death of his friend.

Quite whether he means the Doctor or Rose, even he doesn't know.

Rose plays their last moments out in her mind like an old film reel. His face is forever engraved into the pit of her mind's eye – the curl of his lips; the emptiness of his smile; the creases in the corner of his eyes. She remembers, briefly, that she has never known him to look so old in his life. He looked withered and tired, like he had had his last adventure.

Her heart cracks that little bit more with every passing second of seeing him alone. He doesn't deserve loneliness. He doesn't _want_ loneliness. Ironic, really, when he spends most of his time making sure he has just that.

That night, she doesn't sleep. She doesn't even try. She sits by the window in the hotel, looking out as the moon bathes the windswept, bare countryside in eerie light. She feels every battered branch of the trees as they move, each only an echo of the hurricane of grief blowing in what's left of her heart.

He has two hearts. Does he hurt more, then? Is there more to break, more to shatter, more to splinter into billions of pieces that rip through him like the death of a thousand angels? She hopes not. By God, she hopes not. Because if he feels the way she does, let alone more so, she might just cry for him for the rest of her life. Her Doctor, in so much pain... He wouldn't be able to cope. He would break and wither, leaving just an empty shell of the man she loved. Loves.

Or he would do what he always does – bottle it up, pretend it's okay, act like he's moving on. She's not sure which she wants. And she hates herself for almost wanting him to feel the way she does, for the rest of his life. Because if she's going to feel this way for the rest of hers, it's nice to know that maybe she has some company in it.

She can't even force the single tear to roll down her cheek while she thinks of him, taking in the desolate view outside of her window. She has cried so much, and she is so tired. She has aged so much, in so many ways, that she knows her mother is right: she is not Rose Tyler anymore.

Slowly, without word or sound, she moves from the window to the door of the room. She isn't even thinking as her feet tread the down stairs, out of the front door and down the road. There is a beach, she knows, some way down the path. It might be half a mile. It might be seven. She walks it without ceremony. She isn't aware of the time she takes to walk it. She doesn't care.

When she gets there, waves roar and crash up the shore, sounding so much like the Doctor's gentle whisper in her ear that she almost remembers what it's like to live again. Almost.

She is beyond scolding herself, beyond telling herself that she's been through all of this before. Once, in the last four months or so, she could cope with. Once was enough. She could cope with once. Just. She had blocked it off, tried to move on, sealed him away inside of her to keep him safe. But he had reopened the wound, and it would not heal a second time.

Four months later, here she was, fighting for every breath. She can still hear his calling in her head, the huskiness of his tone as he pulls her. Pulled her. The voice is silent now – just a memory.

Rose crouches to sit on the sand, not caring that it is damp enough to seep through her jeans. She doesn't know why she has come here. Doesn't know why the air tastes like tears she can't cry. Doesn't know why the moon ripples in the wild water like the eye of a Gleeg, some alien on some planet he once took her to. Doesn't know why the rolling waves she hears still soothe her, or why the wind whipping around her almost feels like his hand on her cheek. If she closes her eyes. And forgets to breathe.

She isn't surprised when the sky at the horizon fades to a bruised grey grey, almost black, and she is still sitting there. Her knees are pulled up somewhere near her chin, her arms draped wearily over them. She may have stopped breathing a long time ago. She doesn't know.

Neither is she surprised when he appears beside her, his hands tucked neatly into his trouser pockets, the tips of his hair dancing in the cheeky breeze. His face is sombre as he looks out to the horizon line, following her gaze. She doesn't even look up. It is not the first time her imagination has conjured an accurate picture for her. Sometimes it's her old Doctor, her first Doctor, brooding or flirtatious or calming or angry. Sometimes it's just a voice in her head, almost like a conscience, telling her what to do when a decision is tough. Guiding her. He has always been good at that.

Tonight, it's him.

"Me, again."

She still doesn't look – she knows that if she does, all she'll see is the cliff side way over there, surrounding the bay like angry, jagged teeth. It's best to leave him as a glimpse, a possible shadow out of the corner of her eye. It's easier that way. She never believes it, but it's easier to fall.

Often she just replies in her mind, her head a battlefield for an animated conversation that she may or may not once have had with him.

Tonight, she needs words.

Her throat is hollow and dry, like she hasn't used it in a thousand years. Perhaps she hasn't – sometimes it's difficult to get a word in edgeways when the Doctor starts rambling.

"Oi. I heard that."

She smiles as his voice surrounds her, knowing it isn't real, that it is just a memory, that it is just a fusion of memories all strung together – but still it is almost outside of her, as though she is hearing the words spoken from him rather than herself.

He takes his hands out of the pockets of his all-too-familiar pinstripe suit and his feet almost – but not quite – leave marks in the sand as he makes to crouch next to her. She closes her eyes, feeling his dark, rich spheres burn as he looks at her. If she holds her breath, she can almost hear his breath beside her, almost feel the warmth of his body, almost hear the air hiss from his lips as it escapes him, almost smell his warm and crisp, tangy skin, almost feel his hand reach out and caress her cheek. Her memory is almost good enough. Almost – but not quite.

"Oh, Rose..." He is gentle and tender, just like she remembers when he hurts for her. "Don't cry. Not for me – too many tears have been spilled over silly old me."

She isn't crying on the outside; but it's not the outside he's talking about.

"Not enough," she replies, eyes still shut. Her voice is a whisper in the air around her and she realises these are the first words she has spoken since she told him of her love. "Never enough."

She almost hears him sigh; but it might have been the wind tearing across the waves of the sea.

"I know. I feel the same way – About you, obviously. It would be a bit conceited to think that way about myself."

She laughs pitifully through her nose, a sound that would break his hearts if he were really here.

"Hasn't bothered you before," she teases quietly. Even through closed eyes, she can sense the pallor in the in the sky begin to shift to a muddy, dirty pink. She always prefers a sunrise – it offers so much more hope.

The Doctor ignores her teasings, because he knows it's in good humour and that it's not what she wants right now.

"You should watch this sunrise, Rose. Don't miss it because of me."

She shudders involuntarily as she feels his hand brush at the strands of hair by her cheek, tickling her skin – but she knows it is just the wind playing with her hair and that she is shivering with cold.

"I can't." Back to a whisper again, because she's too afraid that any louder will shatter the illusion.

"Don't be afraid," he murmurs softly, and his voice seems closer, seems warmer, and Rose idly congrats her imagination on being so accurate. "Trust me. Trust yourself. Live on, with me by your side. Open your eyes."

"I can't," she repeats more forcefully – yet her voice is still cracked with grief. And then, in a fearful whisper, she adds, "You'll disappear."

"But if you can't see me anyway, what's the point in keeping your eyes closed? You'll miss everything else, and you won't see me any better or worse for having your eyes open."

He has a point. Even in her mind, he can get the better of her. It was, and is, one of the things she loves in him.

She opens her eyes.

She keeps them forward, too, concentrating on the line of the horizon where the sea touches the sky. Because if she's careful, she might just be able to make his outline from the corner of her eye. Equally, it may be the shape of the cliffs playing tricks on her in the dull light.

"See? It's quite a sunrise."

He's right, of course. Even with just faded colour in the sky, she knows it's going to be spectacular.

The Doctor shifts slightly, closer to her – or perhaps it's just the wind in the dunes behind her.

He turns his head again, eyeing the horizon keenly. If she relaxes her focus, she might just about see him point – but it might be the headland jutting out narrowly over the sea, hundreds of metres away.

"That. Right there. That's why I love this planet."

He is pointing to the horizon and Rose knows it. There's a concentrated strand of light, the tiniest slick of orange just above the level of the sea.

Rose swallows salty air before she asks. "What?"

"That horizon. The impossible. Where land and sky join as one, merging together to create... Well, who knows? Maybe nothing happens. But it never gets any closer, or any further away. Always within sight but never within reach. Earth is one of the only places it's possible to see a horizon like that. Nothing is in the way, nothing sticking up anywhere it shouldn't, nothing spoiling its perfection. There are other planets, of course, but Earth is the only one with the time and simplicity to appreciate it."

She sits and listens to a voice that should be hers but isn't quite, and remembers something a teacher once said about her in school.

'_She's a quiet girl, works hard; but sometimes her imagination runs away with her'._

Rose has never before understood that expression, has never worked out what it really means. But sitting here now, like this, she begins to understand and even more so wishes it were true. She wants to run away with her imagination so much, it physically hurts – like a fist, clenching and unclenching in the pit of her stomach. She wants nothing more than to take his hand and run away with him, in every sense she can think of. She wants to the run to the TARDIS, run to his arms, run with him from the aliens, run into danger, run her fingers between his, run her hands through his hair, run her fingernails down his back between his shoulder blades, run her lips over his supple skin...

She shudders, blocking rogue thoughts from her mind. Not here. Not now.

"I'm glad you stopped there," she hears his voice in her head. He sounds amused. "I wouldn't like to be made an 'object' of in the middle of a Norwegian beach. It's much too early for those sorts of thoughts."

She considers, her eyes still on the horizon ahead of her as it begins to burn. The tip of the sun is rising, its rays creeping sleepily up into the sky.

"Or much too late," Rose reflects, not even trying to hide the sadness in her voice. There would be no point – he was inside her head, after all.

What might be a chuckle from the Doctor might also be a wave crashing fervently upon a collecting of rocks at the base of the cliff.

"You really are miserable without me, aren't you?"

There isn't an answer she can give that he doesn't already know, so she keeps quiet.

The Doctor reclines and rests his hands on his thighs for a moment, leaning on his haunches as he watches her. Then with a breath that may well be her own, he stands to full height and gazes softly down to her.

She feels the prickle of temptation to turn and look, feeling rather like she is stuck in Orpheus' story with Hades: she knows that if she gives in to the temptation and turns, she'll be greeted by nothing but empty space. So she doesn't.

"I'm looking for you on the horizon," he tells her, and she feels choked, caught up in emotion that she is bringing on herself. _Don't look. He isn't there. You'll lose him. Don't look_. "If you wait long enough, I'll find you. The horizon is the impossible – but we've done impossible, Rose. Rather good at it, actually. You and me, we always were impossible, weren't we? We always made it, against all the odds, because that's what we do. We make it work. We find each other. We live on. And I will find you again." There is a pause, and she's not sure how long it lasts. She goes to lick her lips and finds them chapped, hardened in the bitter air. "Do you believe me?"

The tears that sting in her eyes are probably the result from the salty air clawing at her raw face.

Rose blinks and swallows, her mouth hung open in unspoken answers as a menagerie of colours begin to paint across the sky.

"I…" is all she can manage. There isn't a sentence that follows, but she needs to answer him. She doesn't know why.

"Do you believe me?" he repeats.

She hears him stronger, more forceful, inside her head, outside her body. Even though he's just her imagination, sometimes it feels so real that she doesn't want to let go.

Rose closes her eyes again, if just for a second, and remembers a warm ghost of a memory – his lips on hers, soft and gentle, from a long, long time ago.

"Yes," she calls breathlessly in answer, gasping the word out as if he's just asked her if she loves him.

"Good. Now open your eyes, watch the sunrise and wait for me. I'll meet you on the horizon."

Temptation takes over and she opens her eyes, turning her head to look at him pleadingly, see any sign on his face or in the sand that he's there.

She is alone, and it does not surprise her; but she can't quite escape the single, choked sob that courses through her as she looks back to the sunrise, reaching out to him with her heart. She'll watch because it is beautiful and captivating. And she'll wait – because he told her to.

**End of Part One.**


	2. Part Two

**Author's Note**:_ Thanks for the reviews, everyone. I am half way through wiritng part three, but I have a long car journey today so it may not get done. I hope this satisfies in the meantime and, seroiusly, I love all the feedback. I know it was angsty, but it gets better! Promise! _

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**Almost, Part Two**

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From where she is sitting, the sun looks only a few centimetres up in the sky. For some reason, she does not have to squint or recoil when she looks at it – she just revels in its beauty as the colours bathe her and everything around her. The beach is grey. The water, too. But the sky around the sun is bruised and paled with different colours; pinks, purples, oranges, reds. The sky behind her, though she does not turn to look, is still an empty blue. And still she waits.

The tide has crept lower, crawling back down the length of the beach like a tortoise recoiling into its shell. She hasn't moved.

The sand beneath her is cold, sending chills through her. Her imagination has not graced her with his presence since his last visit, but she doesn't mind. It's nice when he shows up by himself, almost like the real thing. She is not quite sure why she waits, but she does, until her hearts tell her it is time to go.

The sun has risen and she knows her family, such as it is, will wake soon and find her gone. She can't let them worry like that; yet at the same time, she doesn't want to stand and leave her memory behind. She doesn't want to face a new world, what everything in it might mean. She wants to sit here and watch. Wait.

So sit here she does.

Until her memory flickers back into action again, playing a tune to her that rasps and grates against the bonds in her mind, like the sound of metal on rusty metal. She has heard the sound before in this world, sometimes imagining it, sometimes hearing something that might be it but never, ever is. She has imagined the Doctor materialise in the TARDIS before, so it is nothing special this time around when her mind is just out to impress her. Sometimes she likes the sound and it soothes her, reminding her that her memory is just about good enough, for him at least.

Rose almost sighs as, out of the corner of her eye, she sees what might be the square build of the TARDIS but what could easily be a gape in the headland, a cave that's so tall and deep, it's worked itself right the way through the rock. Her imagination always was good at picking up on the little things.

She smiles as her memory plays back the sound of that creaking door; the slight shadow of someone stepping out from within is simply the wind kicking up the sand around her. He likes his big entrances sometimes, even in her mind. She tolerates them because they are a part of him and therefore a part of her, too. She's not quite sure how it all works, but she knows it makes a certain kind of sense in her mind.

She always did get confused when it came to love.

Eyes still fixed on the horizon, she can almost hear soft footfalls in the sand as he steps and looks at her, wondering what on Earth he can say this time that has not already been said. Perhaps there is nothing. Sometimes she likes to just imagine him, to have him nearby without words. Sometimes she doesn't need words. This is one of those times. Use her strength and memory to pretend his warmth and presence is real. Because if she goes on pretending, one of these days, if she wishes hard enough, it might come true.

"Rose."

Only he can say so much with just one word, she remembers. He's said her name like that before, and it's a question, an answer, a pleading, a statement, a poem, a universe, a name and an emotion all at once. She begins to close her eyes to revel in the sound of her name against his lips. When she realises something. The tone of his voice is thicker and richer, strong and more defined, like he's been practising it for years.

Her heart skips a beat.

She opens her eyes, turns her head.

And he's there.

He's standing there with his hands in his pockets and a smug expression over his face as though he's trying not to laugh. Just like she remembers him. But it's pouring out of his full, round eyes and calling to her and she scrambles up, not quite knowing what to believe or what to feel but never taking her eyes off him because she hasn't seen him like this in so long and she feels starved.

She reminds herself to breathe, to take a pause, to form coherent thought.

But everything comes crashing down on her all at once, like the waves against the rocks and sand, and she walks carefully towards him and watches him do the same.

They stop just short of each other, centimetres apart, and she stands and gazes up into his eyes, desperately trying to lose herself in the maze of emotion she finds there. There's grief and joy and hunger and passion and desire and loathing and envy and a thousand more, swirling and writhing in the pit of his soul. It's all and none of these that shine through in his tender, cheeky, lop-sided grin: the one that unfurls slowly from the tipped corner of his mouth then spreads to all other parts of him, including the Rose in front of him because she is a part of him now, too.

Part of her doesn't believe it. She can feel his warmth, see him, smell him, almost taste him – but part of her is convinced that he isn't real, that she is dreaming, that this is just existential thought and imagination.

"How long did you wait?" he asks, his voice verging both on laughter and tears as he looks at her – _really_ looks at her. And she knows, right then, that she isn't imagining. His voice is so rich that her memory doesn't do him justice. Her world falls apart.

He knows the answer to his question, of course he does, but he can't help the words and she can't help the smile or the reply that follows.

"Five-and-a-half hours," she laughs and cries at the same time, a bittersweet smile spreading over her pained face.

It's a lie, and they both know it: she is just playing his game. However, it is not the words that matter, but the tone behind them and what that, in turn, means.

And then his whole face lights up as he gives in, succumbing to the laughter that is spreading through him like a flower in bloom. He's laughing, truly and properly, like a young child and an old man, wholly, completely, and eternally; she can't help but laugh too as he brings his arms around her, crushes her to his chest, lifts her and spins her, around and around, making them both as dizzy as the Earth itself.

But neither of them care, as they relish one another, losing themselves in each other's laughter, breath, scent, touch, feel, sensation... It swirls around them like a whirlpool, churning lost desire, hungry words, broken hearts, and new beginnings into a thrill of colours and mixes, taking away sense and coherence until all that is left is instinct and action.

He can't stop laughing as he turns them, closing his eyes as he buries his nose somewhere near her neck, in amongst her hair. He smells a shampoo he remembers from the TARDIS when she was with him, and he feels giddy and excited, like his whole worlds are exploding into something new, something better, and he can't wait to get started because he's finally found what has been missing these past years of his life. He hugs her harder, feeling her squeeze him back – her arms are looped behind his neck and it almost hurts. Except he cares too much to notice and instead just sets her down in the sand again, their world still spinning around them.

He doesn't let go and neither does she, each clinging to each other that little bit more as the laughter fades and dies, replaced by something else.

There are tears now, from both sides. Rose grasps him desperately, her hands moving so she can claw him to her, one getting lost in his mane of hair, the other gripping his shoulder tightly. Salty tears drip down her face to his jacket; she muffles her sob but does not stop herself from nuzzling his neck, feeling his skin against hers.

He doesn't mind, though, and in secret rather likes it. He cannot match her stream of salty fire, but as he pulls her close to his chest, silencing all gaps between their bodies, he can't help but let out one small, choked cry as he holds her, shaking with so much and so little, he's not even sure what makes sense anymore. He feels her crying in his arms, feels the skin of his neck become slightly damp with her ragged breathing and slow sobs.

His hand begins to caress her back soothingly as he rests his chin on her shoulder, his other arm circling behind her shoulders and keeping her close. He draws idle patterns with his hand, the one drifting to and fro from the small of her back. He feels her respond to the touch, somehow both pressing against his torso and tensing her back to meet his contact.

She never ceases to amaze him.

They stand like that as the sun continues to rise, each second ticking away into long, wholesome minutes, until finally neither is shaking with overwhelming emotion. There they stand, feeding off each other's warmth, eyes closed, breathing slow, each trying to stay connected – just like this – for as long as time will let them.

It is the first time they have shared physical contact since... Well, Rose can't exactly remember when. Her memory is hazy and blurred, certain events not accurate enough to base thoughts upon. All she knows is now, and right this moment, the man in her arms is holding her so close to his hearts, and feels so warm where she has once been cold, that she both fears and hopes that this is a dream. Part of it is too good not to be.

The Doctor, however, can recite the exact last time he held her in his arms, touched her skin, kissed her lips, inhaled her like oxygen – they are all too long ago and somehow that thought is terrifying. He has lived so long without her beside him, without her hand to hold, without her laughter to enthral him, without her challenges to spur him on that he can't quite believe, that after all this time, he's found her. The past few years of his life slip away into nothing, a mere dream, compared to the chance he has again with her.

With a last embrace, he stands back slightly to look at her, sliding his hands down her curves to rest on her waist. Her breath his deep and long and she searches his eyes, not quite sure which question she wants answered first.

He is grinning again, soft and gentle, and when he speaks it is through his smile, tinting his voice with a tenderness that he only uses towards her.

"I found you. The universe took you away from me, but here I am, doing what I do best. The impossible."

Rose smiles warmly, her hands resting on his shoulders as her gaze rests on him. "I'll have to start calling you that. Mister Impossible Man. You seem to be settin' quite a trend."

"You'd better well not," he counters with mock reproach, already feeling the way they used to be leak through into their relationship. "I didn't spend all this time trying to find you so you could come up with some poncy nick-name for me."

"All right," she agrees with a small laugh and a grin. And then she's worried, suddenly, because for her it has been a matter of months since she last held him and only a matter of hours since she last saw him. For him... "How long's it been... since we..."

He knows her question and his look mirrors that of when he was on the beach, telling her goodbye. Pride and warmth with regret and sorrow, mingling together to create a small smile that is almost tipped downwards in the corners rather than up.

He lifts a hand from her waist, cupping her cheek, the palm of his hand warm and slightly rough against her skin. She can't help leaning into his touch and he notices.

"Forever," he whispers back, because he doesn't want her to know exactly how long it's been since the last time he took her hand or pulled her into a hug. He doesn't want to tell her that there have been other companions or other adventures, or other dangers, or even other loves. He hasn't fallen again, he would never – could never – do that; but there have been others who he has learned to care about, in his distant way. Others who have left.

He doesn't want her to know that his latest companion does not understand why he never leaves the TARDIS, when they land so she can visit her family. She doesn't understand why he avoids the question, refuses to meet her parents or siblings, refuses tea, despite being so apparently attached to it. He does not want Rose to know that the companion, Martha, eventually gave up trying to help him and, after just short of a year, wished to be taken back home again. He has been alone since, but he doesn't want his Rose to know, because she'll only worry. And worry is definitely not how he wants her to be feeling right now.

"Feels like forever, anyway," he continues jovially as his thoughts rush on, dropping his hand but insisting on staying close to her. "But you know me – always been a tad melodramatic. Anyway. Miss me?"

His grin is wide and doesn't falter when she reaches to hit him affectionately over the head, the lightest of slaps that simply lets her hand linger on his cheek for just a moment. He has to try very hard not to close his eyes and tilt his mouth towards her palm, because temptation is ripping through him wildly and there are so _many_ ways that he wants to let her know how much she means to him, how much he's missed her, how hard he fought for her. Will always fight for her.

"More than – " she begins, trying to add sincerity back into their conversation – but then has to stop and think, because she can't think of anything that has even come close to how she has missed him and how she feels about him now. "More than… Oh, I dunno, you idiot. More than life? What d'you expect?"

He smiles and licks his lips, pride bursting through him as he watches her. He knows he shouldn't be surprised that she hasn't changed a bit, considering it has only been months, but he has been dreaming and praying about this moment for so long, and it has been so rehearsed in his mind, that he can hardly believe she is actually here, in his arms, and he can't remember any of what he wanted to say.

And then he considers her question seriously, his grin fading slightly. The smallest of frowns creases his already tired brow and for a moment, he glances to the heavens, taking in a slow breath.

"What do I expect?" he echoes, though it seems to Rose that he's asking the sky itself rather than her. Then suddenly his eyes are back again, very much in front of her and very much real. "I don't know. I know what I _deserve_. Anger and curses, and probably a good slap or two. I know that I _want_ forgiveness, because to be quite honest, the guilt has been… well… but what I _expect_? I didn't even expect to get this far. From you, Rose Tyler, I expect nothing. Nothing but the fantastic woman who still, even now, never ceases to amaze me."

She feels words tangle with tears in her throat, feels something rise from her stomach and spill through her barriers – but she will not cry. Not now, when he is here, after he promised that he could never be again.

She wants to reach for him, to take his hand, to hug him again, but she isn't sure if she's allowed or if he's changed or if they still work together quite like that. So she makes do with watching him, instead, giving him nothing but her full attention, because he deserves no less.

"I thought you said you couldn't come back? That I'd never ever see you again…"

His smile is bitter, almost rueful, but he bites back on his pride and his words because he has waited too long for this. "Never say 'never ever'," he informs her earnestly, before reaching and taking her hand. Their fingers do not intertwine; the way he takes her hand in this incarnation is different to his last, and he usually prefers the subtle approach, palms grazing each other, fingers curled around each other's knuckles. However, this time, it is very much like a duke greeting a duchess and he grips her fingers in his whole hand, stroking his thumb tenderly over them as he looks at her. "And when I saw you – I was right. I couldn't come back. Not then. My supernova burned and the crack healed; but I still looked for you. By God, Rose, I didn't half search. Ways in and out of universes aren't _that_ uncommon in my line of work, but there are a thousand different realities and none of them quite… fit…"

"And… And what about now?" she chokes, sniffing back tears that have no right to be there.

The Doctor's eyes are large and wise, like he knows something she needs to hear but will never tell her because it may destroy her. "Well _now_, I'm here aren't I? I won't say I gave up looking. I didn't. Everything I bloody did, I did it for you. You were always there, at the back of my mind, your little tiny London voice willing me to go on. Without you, I may very well have sat around in the TARDIS for the rest of my days. Course, without you, none of this would even be happening anyway, but you get what I mean. I suppose. If you think – "

"Yeah, I get it," she cuts across quickly, because at this point, she feels she is doing him a favour from his rambling. Once he starts, he barely ever stops. "You were saying?"

She doesn't mean to sound impatient or patronising, but there is something so captivating about the sound of his voice that she just wants to listen to him, listen as he tells her about his journeys and his struggle to find her. Part of her wishes she could just take his hand and let that be that, and another part hates herself for being so selfish. But something in her has changed while she's been here, this 'parallel Earth', and at the sight, sound, smell and touch of him, she feels herself changing back. Selfishness seems almost deserved.

"Right," the Doctor corrects, his frown fading, his thought returning to his original track. The hand around hers squeezes tight, and he likes to imagine he can see a visible shudder run through her at the touch she might have missed. Then he smiles, not open mouthed, but still very, very alive. He meets her eye. He holds his breath. And then he tells her, in a voice that is barely more than a whisper, because he knows she will understand. Head dipped so that he is almost looking _up_ at her, his eyes dance with mischief. "I found them."

Three words, and her heart skips a beat. She smiles too, tightening her own hand on his, then pulling him into a hug of ecstasy, of congratulations, maybe even of love. She doesn't know. All she does know is that she has never felt so completely happy and complete with something that is nothing to do with her. It is a happiness that shouldn't be her own, and he is somewhat astounded when she feels it for him. But he grins and hugs back, just briefly, before setting her in front of him again and stepping around the beach in ecstatic triumph. He laughs and grins and circles her, eyes never leaving her, before he reaches for both of her hands and practically dances around her as if she were a maypole.

"I _found_ them!" he says again, and his voice is a cry, a victorious shout of pleasure into the morning air as he dances. "Rose, I found them! My own kind! I went, and I looked, and I _found them_!"

His excitement is clear on his face, like a young child who has just been reunited with his family. In some ways, Rose muses, that is exactly what it is like.

She wants to ask how and why, but she knows those are questions he will answer in time. Something inside her tells her that he hasn't fully appreciated the weight of his triumph yet, as though he has been waiting to share it. With her. The thought uplifts her, and she feels as though she's flying when that look of his grazes lovingly over her. How it connects with him being here, now, she can't see; but she knows that the Doctor will tell her when he is ready.

Laughing as he feels youth return to him, the Doctor stops for a moment and gazes out to the horizon. Suddenly, as abrupt as the snap of a pair of fingers, his success and spirit fall away from him, leaving a sort of sombre composure. Even his smile has faded.

He stands away from her, his arm outstretched as he clasps one of Rose's hands in his. But his gaze is firmly set upon the line of the sea and he can't bring himself to look at her as his acute, Time Lord senses whirr into action around him. He somehow feels detached, like he has been here before, like he is dreaming.

He mutters something under his breath and Rose, transfixed by the beautiful carving of a man in front of her, steps tentatively towards him, squeezing his hand slightly. He doesn't turn to her.

"Doctor?" she asks quietly, both checking that he is all right and questioning what he spoke.

He gives no indication that he has heard her, save for the softest caress of his fingers over the top of her hand. He is so real where once he was so ghostly that she wants to cry again. How many times will he do this to her?

The Doctor mutters again, no more audible, but she is closer now, and thinks she can make out what it is he's said. He almost seems in a trance, but she gasps when she hears his words, coming to a halt beside him and staring out with him over the sea.

_...I'll meet you on the horizon..._

It looks like, just this once, the horizon came to them.

**End of Part Two.**


	3. Part Three

**Author's Note**_: I apologise for the time it took me to get this up. This chapter was longer than I anticipated, considering I had to make sure I dealt with everything correctly. I am truly and honestly flattered by the reviews on this fic, and I am beginning to wonder if people relate more to angst rather than "fluff", considering my other story that's up at the moment xD Oh, I just want to make it quite clear that this is more of a fic for feeling better about "Doomsday" than an action-packed story. (Like there aren't enough of those) :D I am, however, thinking of turning this into a series, because everyone writes story of "The Doctor and Rose together forever" etc... But I have yet to read proper fics where they ARE actually together in "that" way, and it seems a bit of a waste to go throguh all that work to make them fall for each other and then just leave it there. Anyway, I'm rambling. I'm sorry. I think Ten has rubbed off on me.  
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**Almost, Part Three**

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"How long have you got?"

It is one of her first questions to him, both this visit and last. The answer this time around is delivered with a cheery grin and it makes her want to cry again, but for different reasons.

"As long as I want. As long as _you_ want."

"So you have..."

"...Forever, yes. Really and truly. Would I lie to you?"

He then goes on to explain that he doesn't particularly _want_ to spend forever here, and that once he goes back, whatever remaining strength in the Time Lords will be used to seal this world off from the universes because it has been dabbled in too many times. The universe will shut itself off from creating more parallels itself, and though it will not die, it will be unreachable through any laws they have. The Time Lords have enough power for two journeys. Once here. Once back. After that, there is nothing.

His joy spills out over him as he explains in hurried bouts, something about rewards, something about soldier's duty, something about wiping the slate clean. There is so, so much to tell her and he doesn't want to spoil it all in a few hurried minutes. So he slows down, telling her what she needs to know, what she wants to know, letting her ask the questions.

He tells her he found his own kind in amidst a wormhole, black holes collected all around, the Time Lords drawing power and steadily growing stronger. Eventually, strong enough for the TARDIS to pick up a signal. They are living on a chunk of rock large enough to have a gravitational force. Large enough for a planet. They've called it Gallifrey II, because they never did like change. Yes, the original planet was still destroyed in the Time War. No, he barely recognises any of them. No... His family are not there. Yes, he is all right. Yes, he is sure. Yes, the other Time Lords certainly recognised him. Yes, they knew what he had done for them in the War. Yes, they had offered him a reward. Yes – he had chosen her.

He has told her that with his own people, flitting between universes is easy. It only became a challenge when they died, when the links severed. They do not have enough collective strength, yet, to form the bonds they once had. But between them, they have enough for this favour to him and enough still to protect the worlds involved. Enough to save her life. And maybe his as well. In a manner of speaking.

The Doctor takes her hand again as the impact of the answer to her last question hangs in the air. The horizon lies forgotten as he stands over her, his back to the sea, his long shadow stretching over her. He is almost silhouetted against the beautiful backdrop, but she can still make out the soft features of his face. Perhaps part of it is her imagination. She smiles – almost laughs – at the thought. And then she bites down on her lip, forcing her childish manner away, because there is something very sinister hanging above her head.

"Did you... Come back... To say...?"

She can't finish her sentence. It hurts too much.

He wonders at what her last words may be. Perhaps it is better she never finishes; yet it is still difficult, and somewhat awkward, and he drops her hand and scratches nervously behind his ear, before sliding his hand to the nape of his neck and rubbing thoughtfully. He doesn't quite meet her eye as he speaks, concentrating very hard on a particularly interesting stack of rocks over in the distance.

"I thought – seeing as I may never see you again – It'll be the last chance..." His eyes meet hers and there is fire in them, both pairs, excited and passionate and daring. "...To say..." He is urged on by the little voice in his head, the little voice that was once his conscience but is now the sound of Rose. "...Come with me."

He had meant it to sound like a question, like an easy sort of thing her best mate might say on a whim. Maybe even a plea. He didn't mean it to sound heavy, like an order, especially if she has already started a new life in this world. She's going to be a big sister. She's going to get a job at Torchwood. She's going to do so many things, help so many people, that to order her away from that is just as selfish as it was to come to here. He can see, in the back of his mind, a warning sign that he has made a mistake.

She almost breaks his neck as she leaps at him with a hug.

He laughs as she clings to him, enjoying the fact that she needs to be so close to him and that he was not wrong. He wraps his arms around her and grins.

"Can I take that as a 'yes'?" It is light-hearted and warm, but there is a sense of pleading in there too. He needs to hear an answer – for his own peace of mind.

"Yes," she breathes into his ear and, perhaps it is the closeness, perhaps it is the atmosphere, perhaps it is the time he has spent away from her, but he suddenly feels quite breathless himself. "Yes. Oh _God_, yes. Thought you'd never ask."

"Well, that would be a little out of order," he replies, pulling back so he can look at her, so that one of his hands can tuck away the hair behind her ear. "Come all the way out here just to pop by and say, 'Whoops, sorry, look at what you're missing, ooh, look at the time, must dash, BYE!'."

"'S what you did last time," Rose points out reasonably, though there is no accusation in her voice. He loves her a little bit more for that, he thinks.

He considers with a ponderous frown before it dissolves away, leaving just the smile on his lips.

"I suppose so. But that was goodbye."

"Oh? And what's this, then?"

His eyes are full of wonder and they sparkle as he watches her: his lips close into an amused smirk. His hands, which are on her shoulders, slide slowly, slowly down her arms to her hands, which – clasped in his – nestle between their lower torsos. Their gaze that has locked never falters.

"A promise," the Doctor replies, and it is the one time in his entire life where, not only does he mean it with every ounce of his hearts and soul, he knows that it is in his power to keep it.

Rose doesn't think there are any other words that could possibly exceed the passion in his voice. Not even the three little ones she can see blazing in his luscious eyes as he looks at her, three words she has already told him but has yet to hear herself.

A whisper on the wind around them reaches her ears and she smiles, because no sounder advice has ever been given.

_Wait._

They walk, hand in hand, back to the hotel. It is not somehow as simple as merely hand in hand – it is shoulder to shoulder, steps slow and longing, conversation quiet. She cannot count the number of times she knocks against his shoulder or his clasped hand grazes her thigh. He can, well up into the hundreds, but he doesn't voice the number because it is something only for him.

He pretends that he does not want to whisk her way on the instant, and he will wait and walk with her so she can say a final goodbye to her family. He tries to make excuses, to find reasons for wanting her to leave them behind so much. _She has left them before... You've had years without her... You both deserve this... She loves you..._ It doesn't stop his guilt, so he will do whatever she asks of him because he no longer as the power to deny her. Not that he had much power in the first place.

She asked, on the beach, if he could take them all with him, back to the real world. But he had smiled, telling her that this world is just as real as any other, and by the looks of things, they were happy. And together. Besides, there isn't enough power to move them all across the rift. The universe could collapse if too much moves. She trusted him and believed him, then she had asked to see them so they wouldn't worry and understand.

He complied, willingly, so now they walk the distance back to the hotel.

He finds it strange that they don't need words. He has missed the sound of her voice so much, yet being here with her like this is enough, and he's happy just to gaze at her as they walk. Her own eyes are on the floor by her feet as they tread, or in the distance, or on the horizon. Once or twice, they fall on him too, and they smile at each other because there are no words that can possibly portray how they feel.

And then the Doctor stumbles over a kink in the road and Rose laughs as he collects himself, then shrieks as his eyes gleam and he dashes after her. Like a pair of children, they play a game of kiss-chase, Rose running ahead and laughing as she looks back, seeing the Doctor hot on her tail. There is something almost predatory in his dark eyes and he soon catches her, curling his arm protectively around her waist as he pulls her hip to his, laughing and grinning and nuzzling his nose into her hair.

He catches her off guard when he spins her into him in a smooth movement. Her hands rest in loose fists on his chest and she giggles, meeting his eye while his hand tightens on her waist, his pressure light but enough to keep their bodies together. He is still grinning like an idiot as his other hand dances across her cheek. He cups it finally, the heat radiating off him enough to warm her in the cold morning air.

Then it happens. He dips his head, angling her neck with his hand, before brushing her lips softly with his own. The touch is gentle and intimate, and Rose feels her entire body clench beneath him. It may be chaste as he holds his passion back, but she closes her eyes as their connection lingers. He moves his head rather than his actual mouth, pushing against her ever so slightly as he tightens around her upper lip. Just for moment, he pulls back to move to her bottom lip, yet magically he retains his contact in the process. The hand on her back begins to trace circles lightly at the soft skin at her waistband, his fingers just brushing where her jacket ends.

His touch is so perfect that Rose feels dizziness engulf her. She means to kiss back, is sure she does, but there is something very different about this, like he is taking away her control and deliberation, leaving just emotion for him to feed off. Something tickles at the skin at her base of her spine, so soft she barely feels it, and she gasps, finally gaining enough self-control to tilt her head.

It is then that he pulls his head back completely, pulls his lips away from hers and instead stands there and blinks at her. He runs the tip of his tongue between his lips, feeling a moisture there that he knows isn't his own. His hand is still on her jawline and he brushes his thumb tenderly across the smooth skin of her cheek, his smile so small that it is barely noticeable.

She opens her eyes slowly and the happiness that explodes through her at the sight of him still standing there is enough to make her heart race and her hands sweat. Rose can feel the thump of his own hearts at her hands and sighs contentedly, feeling very much like she is floating away on a cloud. It is strange, she thinks, that she has been feeling so heart brokenly miserable these past few months and now suddenly she is feeling happier than she can ever remember feeling in her entire life. Perhaps fate is being cruel to be kind.

The Doctor almost laughs and he doesn't quite know why. There is nothing particularly amusing about this situation, unless he looks at it objectively. He tilts his head, looking at her in a new angle and a new light. His Rose, so beautiful. His smile begins to widen.

"Caught you," he murmurs, blinking so slowly that he can almost feel his lids drag over his eyes.

Rose closes her eyes with a snort of laughter, shaking her head at his ridiculous humour. It is nice to think that he hasn't changed.

"I s'pose that means I'm 'it', then?"

His eyes dance with glee as his smile transforms into his ecstatic grin, before breaking into wild laughter. "Ha_ha_! Yup!"

In an instant he has dropped all contact, because he is dashing backwards away from her, before turning around and jogging. It becomes a full sprint as he hears her trainers crunch on the ground behind him and his coat flies out as he runs. It only takes a few seconds for him to slow again and he turns his head and outstretches his hand, palm up, and grins as she rushes to meet him.

Their hands meet in a fusion of warm emotion, and it is one of the few times in this incarnation where he pushes his fingers through hers, palms together, fingers resting in the shape of the knuckles. Neither stops running. They end up laughing and jogging all the way back to the hotel, hands clasped, their joy rising up into the air and surrounding them like their breath on the cold morning, intertwining, and circling and turning. And always, always dancing.

By the time they reach the desolate, rather run-down, building, it has been agreed that Rose goes in to see them first. There is someone at the desk when they walk in, still hand in hand, but Rose is lucky enough that he recognises her and as she disappears up the stairs, the Doctor has to spend the next few minutes chatting idly about the 'strange family' upstairs. When the receptionist makes the mistake of calling them the Doctor's 'in-laws', he just gazes thoughtfully up the stairs and does not correct him.

It is Jackie and Pete's room she knocks at first, because Mickey always was a late sleeper and she doesn't want to disturb him. However, when she opens the door and steps inside, she spots him in there, along with her Mum and Dad. It takes only a few seconds for her family to realise she is here, and it is her mother in front of, pulling her into a death-grip hug. Then she pulls back and there are tears in her eyes; she has been angry and, worse, worried.

"There you are!" she cries, as if she has just found the second in a pair of shoes. "Thought you'd gone and run off somewhere. Where on Earth have you been?"

Rose smiles at the expression, not quite sure if it really is Earth that she's been on. But her mother continues, relentless, not even pausing for answers.

"Mickey went to get you up and you weren't there. We were all comin' out to find you, though you might have – "

"Jacks," Pete cuts across sternly, and Rose notices – with some happiness – how naturally a couple they are with each other. "Give her a chance to breathe, yeah?"

Mickey is still standing by the window, his face sombre. He knows the look on Rose's face, has seen it many times before. He isn't quite sure if he wants to accept what it means, but he knows that it is for the best.

"I wanna know where the bloody hell she ran off to!" Jackie shoots back to Pete. Then she turns back to her daughter and she softens her look. "What happened, sweetheart? Where did you go?"

She can feel the new strain of tears rise up in her even before the words form in her mind. Up until now, she has been subconsciously living with the notion that it has been a dream. But admitting it to her family brings reality crashing down on her like an avalanche in a blizzard, and she is joking as she tells them, having to double over and up again before she can quite get the words out.

"He came back for me."

"What?" The chorus is unanimous between her parents – Mickey stays quiet, lost in his own thoughts, but there is a wry smile on his young face. He is happy for her, and for the Doctor too, when all is said and done. Cocky bastard, if ever there was one.

"Yeah," Rose tries to explain, her thoughts muddling inside her mind, making it almost impossible to get the words out. "He's back. He's here."

Jackie looks worried, possibly quite rightly. "Are you sure?" she whispers, her face contorted into a disbelieving frown. She takes her daughter's hand. "Cos you kept thinkin' he was back before, always rushin' out at the first sound o' that damn ship'f his. It never was, though, an' there's never been any proof of 'im. Well, until last night, but Mickey says that was a one-off. How do you know he's real?"

Rose is beside herself as too many emotions fight for rights in her body. There is frustration and happiness and somewhere, lodged in amongst it all, the tiniest bit of grief, because she knows and remembers how she used to feel about the Doctor returning, always expecting him to turn up on the corner of some street. She needs help to explain to her Mum, to the rest of her family, because she herself doesn't believe it quite enough to tell them it's real.

Up until the next few moments, after which, she is definitely sure.

"Oh, I'm quite real, Jackie. I can promise you that."

He is standing in the doorway just behind Rose and she jumps and turns, not expecting him to be there. Perhaps under usual circumstances he might have stayed downstairs – but he knows she might have needed his help with this and, besides, he has been so long without her by his side that to be in the same building – in the same _universe_ – and not being next to her is enough to rip him apart from the inside out. He decides it is best to avoid that sort of thing as much as possible, so he grins and puts a hand comfortingly on Rose's shoulder as she turns back to her family.

Pete gapes.

Mickey stares.

Jackie rushes forward.

He thinks, for one terrifying moment, that she means to slap him; but then she hurls one arm around Rose and the other around him, pulling them both to her in a crushing hug.

He has to bend to meet it, because he always was rather tall in this incarnation. He cannot help the grin that spreads over his face as he feels Rose's hand find his, giving them their own secret hold on each other that no one can see.

Jackie steps back and the look on her face would, under other circumstances, be enough to make the Doctor laugh. She looks livid but grateful, confused though understanding, heart-broken yet delighted. He always did think that humans used emotions far too often.

"Where the _bloody_ hell have you been?" she demands, standing back now with her hands on her hips. Her gaze then dips to their clasped hands, their fingers linked – again. Even Jackie notices the contact is closer than it usually is and her head turns from one to the other a slight frown setting into her face. "You're not...?"

"I've been busy," the Doctor offers, choosing to ignore her second question. It seems rude to answer Rose's mother before he has answered her.

"Busy?" Jackie is, unsurprisingly, mortified. "You left us all stranded out here, an' you've been _busy_? I've got a good idea to give you a piece of my mind – "

"Mum!" Rose cuts in finally, and the Doctor is glad of it. He does not really want to deal with an irate mother right at the minute. He is still fighting overwhelming feelings for the daughter in question. "He's had to... to find his own kind jus' so he could get back here. He can only come once, an' leave once, an' then he's gone."

Jackie's eyes narrowed. "'S what 'e said last time!"

"Last time, I didn't have my own – "

Rose's hand tightens on his and she steps up on tiptoe, leaning into his ear. He stops talking as she whispers, "You don't have to explain a thing, 'kay? Not to mum. You've done enough for us."

Obediently, he shuts is mouth, and a wave of appreciation washes over him. He is so glad he's found her.

Boldly, Rose slips her hand out of his and meets her Mum's eye. Then she looks to Mickey and Pete, not sure what to make of the feeling she sees there. Pete seems almost angry: but she doesn't know him that well yet, he could just be thinking about something else. Mickey, on the other hand, has a look that is of pure acceptance and she almost wants to rush over to him and tell him she loves him for it. She doesn't, not in that way, but there will always be a special place in her heart that will care for him. He has changed so much since her adventures with the Doctor. She is sure she has, too.

Her Mum isn't smiling when Rose looks back, and she has to take a breath, brace herself, and step forward. This is harder than she thought it would be.

"We can't come back."

The implied 'we' is obvious. She doesn't mean "You, me, Mickey, Pete, the baby an' the Doctor". She means "Me an' the Doctor". And everybody knows it.

Jackie's eyes instantly look over her shoulder and into his face. "You're takin' her away from me again, aren'tchya?"

Pete can recognise the hurt in his wife's voice. He calls her his wife in his head, and to this world she is – the papers say she is a Mrs. Jackie Tyler. They haven't had a ceremony this time around. Neither needs one.

He steps forward, in more ways than one, and puts a comforting hand on her arm. He, too, meets eyes with the Doctor, though his apparent anger has faded and he looks on with accepting pride. He knows Rose can make a good decision. Jackie jumps and turns. "Tell him, Pete," she instructs. But he can't, and they both know it. "Tell him he can't do that..." There are tears in her voice now, but Pete doesn't falter. He just stares.

"It's Rose's decision, Jacks," he answers sombrely, and he is almost proud that the Doctor's face is equally grave.

Jackie turns back to her daughter and Rose steps forward, curling her into a hug.

"I thought this was gonna be it," she whispers to her daughter. "That it was all over. That we could be a family again."

Rose steps away and blinks back raw tears, her face contorting as they start to spill over her cheeks. It shouldn't be this hard, she tries to tell herself. But then again, this is goodbye. Really and truly. She'll never see them again, and although she would choose the Doctor any and every day, it still hurts.

She slips a hand to her mother's stomach. "You can still have a family," she chokes breathlessly, closing her eyes before her vision blurs with a new film of tears. Jackie reaches to stroke her daughter's hair and she opens her eyes again, taking another deep breath. "You can have the family you deserve, yeah? Start again – new life, new love. An' I can too. With the Doctor."

Jackie gives him another fearful glance before turning back. There are the beginnings of an understanding smile on her face, despite the tears that are creeping down her own face. "Well then, I s'pose I can't really hate the man who gives you all that, can I sweetheart?"

The Doctor looks on and holds in a breath, wishing very hard that the circumstances did not mean more painful goodbyes to his Rose. It was easy, he remembers, for her to up and leave them at Torchwood, because there was no thought involved. There was just action and reaction, and instinct and feelings. Now there is time to think, and it hurts so much more. Perhaps that is why he never says goodbye. Or why he never used to. Since he met Rose... Well, things have changed. He knows it is probably for the better.

Mother and daughter hug for a final time, before Rose pulls back and moves on to Pete. She whispers something to him and for a moment, the Doctor is sure he sees the cool, confident man break. He wraps his arms around the young woman, but lets her go quickly. She brushes an affectionate kiss to his cheek before moving on to Mickey.

Pete stands for a moment, raising fingers to the spot where Rose kissed him. _Dad. She called me 'Dad'_. For the first time, though perhaps not the last, he feels what it's like to be a father.

There is silence in the room as all eyes fall on the two by the window. Rose approaches Mickey slowly, uncertainly, not quite sure what to say. She stops inches away from him, her face pleading.

They meet eyes. He nods mutely. And then they hug.

It isn't like the last goodbye. There are no tears, no curses, no pleadings. There is just acceptance and happiness for one another – Mickey's life here is far more fulfilling than it ever was back home. He knows that he said goodbye to her a long time ago, that he lost her even before that. Now, he is just happy to see her smile again, to see a part of the old Rose return to her.

Rose is back to the Doctor's side not long after and she turns her head to look at him. There is a question in his eyes and she smiles, nods. Then he looks away, steps forwards, stoops a little, and swoops her mother into a hug.

Jackie is shocked and squawks a little; the Doctor lets go soon enough. She meets his eye and frowns, then pulls im down again, her embrace nothing like that of his Rose. But he laughs anyway, because this is the last chance he will ever have to feel like a part of a family.

"You take good care of her – you hear me?" she tells him with a waving finger. Then, turning to her daughter, she adds, "And don't you be takin' any stick from 'im. I know how rude he can be – the things that come out of his mouth!"

"You wanna hear him when he isn't being polite!" Rose teases before she can stop herself. The Doctor looks back to her with a smirk on his face, before turning back and holding out a hand to her father. It is the decent thing to do, he thinks, given the circumstances.

Pete takes is, nodding his head as their hands shake. He then brings up his other hand, encasing the Doctor's in both of his own. "It's just as well you came back," he informs him. "Our Rose has never been the same since you left."

The Doctor tries not to smile at the term 'our', but makes sure that the compliment is heard. Then he looks to meet eyes with Mickey, the final goodbye he thinks he can handle.

The young man still stands, quietly, observing everything that's going on around him without adding to the conversation. Their eyes lock, and a silent discussion is going on between them. And then, through a strange sort of courage that he has only learned recently, Mickey clears his throat.

"Looks like the better man won, then." His voice is kind, where once it might have been cynical or snide.

A small, affectionate smile tips the corners of the Doctor's mouth. "Oh, I dunno," he replies, putting on a thoughtful sigh. "I'd say you give me a fair run for my money."

He has become, if he is honest with himself, rather fond of the young chap. But goodbyes are only for once, really, and he feels his feet begin to twitch as he yearns to be in amongst the stars again. When he turns only his head back to Rose, she is looking at him softly. There is pride in her glittering brown eyes, and he knows that part of it is because of him and part of it is because of Mickey. He is pleased – Mickey deserves pride.

"Right," the Doctor continues after a thoughtful sigh, stretching his arm out and angling it to Rose. He wiggles the fingers of his hands almost seductively, willing her in his mind to step forward and take it. He catches her eye and adds, very softly, "Time to go?"

He doesn't want to hurt her, doesn't want her to think she doesn't care. He knows this is the last time she will see any of them again. So does she.

There is a sorrow in both his face and his voice that surprises him a little. Part of him even wishes he could stay, could live here, could start his own life and family – but it is only the very smallest of parts, perhaps the part that keeps him human.

"What, already?"

The voice is Jackie's, hurt and cold. The Doctor looks up, his face apologetic.

"Can't you stay?" her mother persists. Pete's hand tightens on her shoulder. "Just a bit?"

"I'm sorry," the Doctor sighs, and it is an apology that he means. "Every second that I'm here, this world is falling apart. Both of them are. It'll heal when I go back, but until then, everything is just going to get worse."

He feels a hand in his. Rose.

"Sounds like we'd best be off then," she offers, looking between the Doctor and the rest of her family. He smiles subtly at her bravery, despite the fact he knows it is put on. "I... I love you. All of you."

Jackie hugs her husband mutely as the couple head towards the door. Mickey watches, his hands curled into fists, but says nothing. The tension in the room is thicker than mud, and just as difficult to breathe through.

The Doctor's hand is in the small of her back as she walks in front of him and she is at the door before he has a thought, stops and turns. All eyes are on him and he is not surprised. He meets eyes with Jackie and tries to ignore the guilt he feels creeping through him like an army of ants.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Jackie, give me your phone."

She frowns and would argue, but there is something in his look that she can't help but trust. Obediently, she digs in her pocket and produces the thin affair. The Doctor takes it and frowns thoughtfully, before digging into the pocket of his suit and producing something that looks like the smallest of microchips. He slips the cover from the SIM card and slots the device into the mechanism, where it fits perfectly. With a smile that would melt the heart of any broken mother, he grins and hands the phone back.

"There!" he offers with a grin, and looks as though he expects applause. "Good as new. Better, in fact, come to think of it."

Jackie looks bemused, blinking at the contraption in her hand. She looks back to the Doctor, her mouth open slightly, a frown creasing her forehead.

"Super-duper phone," the Doctor suggests, by way of explanation. "It's psychically connected to Rose's phone, now. You'll be able to ring each other, parallel universe or no, and catch up with a good bit of gossip whenever you feel like it!"

Jackie opens and closes her mouth, looking much like a fish, gaping down at the phone. Then she looks up again. "Thank you, Doctor." And she means it.

He smiles.

Rose's hand tightens on his, and he knows he has done the right thing; he knows he has made her happy.

Words seem worthless now. All that is left are shared looks as Rose tries to tell each of them just how much she'll miss them, through only a look.

Then they are leaving the room, walking down the stairs and out of the front door of the hotel. It seems so simple and easy just to walk away like that, to leave them all behind and know she will never see them again. Perhaps she begins why the Doctor does it so easily.

They are not far down the road, hand in hand, when he feels her shake beneath his touch.

For the moment, he has been watching the road ahead of them, content with the wild, grassy banks and the cold wind, and the crisp smell in the fresh, morning air. Part of him is more alive than it has ever been before. But then there's the touch, the smallest of clues that perhaps everything is not all right. He turns his head, catching her out of the corner of his eye. He wonders if he should be surprised that she's crying.

"Hey," he murmurs softly, pulling her to a stop. She obeys, but can't quite bring herself to look at him. Instead, she wraps and arm around herself and looks momentarily to the heavens, trying to force the tears down by the flow of gravity.

The Doctor just gazes at her, unable to look anywhere else. She is glowing to him, radiant, and there is such warmth coming off her that he wonders how he ever managed to live without it. Her face is pale, no make-up staining its beauty. Her hair is battered and bruised, her lips small and delicate; the clothes she is wearing do not fit her well, do not compliment the beautiful figure he knows she has. But she _is_ beautiful. In that moment, right there, when she is so raw to him he imagines he can see part of her very soul, she is more beautiful than any person, place, animal or thing he has ever seen before in his existence. One of his hearts, the left one to be precise, flutters like it has just sprouted wings and is trying to fight free of its restraints.

When she looks at him, the very same heart suddenly stops moving altogether, he is sure of it. He tries not to show in his face that he recognises her look. It is a look he has seen many times before, hiding in her grievous eyes as she tries to maintain eye contact. It is sapping her strength even to look at him, to hold back the wave of grief he knows is consuming her from the inside out. He can't even bring himself to tighten his hand, to pull her into a hug, to grace her lips with a comforting kiss.

He has seen that look before.

It means she wants to go home.

It means she wants to leave.

And, this time around, he's not quite sure he can let her go.

**End of Part Three.**


	4. Part Four

**Author's Note**: _Well, I wasn't planning on this being the last installment, but I guess that's just the way it goes. I can promise sequals, however - but I won't be writing them until 'Partners In Time' is further on in the story. I would appreciate feedback for that one, so those of you with nothing to do would be doing me a huge favour by reading it :D_

_I just want to say that I am very touched and impressed by the reviews this story picked up. I was writing it more for my own peace of mind than anything else - "Doomsday" still makes me cry, even now. I played the confidential the other day and I was in trears over it. Let's just hope there is more luck for David Tennant and Billie Piper in the future._

_I doubt it, though. Because Russel T Davies is just mean. All the best,  
_

_

* * *

_

**Almost, Part Four**

* * *

They are halfway down the beach when he asks again. This time, for what must be his fifth rendition, Rose just laughs and tugs him behind her as the large, blue box she has come to call 'home' looms closer and closer into view. 

"Doctor, ask me that again, an' you're gonna get a mouthful of sand!"

He blinks and obediently shuts his mouth, not quite one hundred percent sure that she is joking. Then she is grinning cheekily over her shoulder at him and he smiles too, because he cannot remember a time where he has been this ecstatically happy before.

The sea is still roaring loudly up and down, in and out, delivering slivers of white foam every now and then across the line of damp sand. Their linked hands are swinging between the couple merrily and their shoes leave smooth, attractive indents in the grainy sand.

He had asked her, back on the road, if she really was sure she wanted to come with him. She was under no obligation to, not in the slightest. They were her family, her life and her home, and after the two of them left this universe, that really would be it. No second chances, no popping in whenever they felt like it, no more windows. This universe, as he has told her before, has been interfered with too many times to make it safe.

She had told him, vehemently, passionately and fervently, that yes, she _did_ want to go home.

The look on his face was priceless, complete horror and disbelief – though he had obviously been trying to hide it.

Then Rose had smiled shyly and reached a single hand up behind his head, to tangle in his mass of hair. She had continued to say, quite sternly, that the TARDIS was her home. Always had been, since almost the first time of boarding it. He had pulled her in for a crushing hug, his joy evident, then planted a bruising kiss to her forehead, taking her head in his hands. Taking her hand, he had led her down the road.

Where he had continued to repeatedly ask if she was sure. Again. And again. And again.

She laughs as they pull up outside the TARDIS. Now that she has accepted that her family are a part of her past, she can't help but feel in high spirits. Part of her feels guilty, wondering if she should mourn them further. They are, after all, her family. Then again, ever since she was stranded here, in this Alternate Universe, nothing has seemed quite right. The people are scared and terrified of technology. The world is quiet. Evolution is fearful. And there's no Doctor.

The Doctor splays a hand out over the door of the TARDIS, but hesitates before pushing it. He turns his head to Rose and she can see the question in his eyes and on his lips before he has even asked it.

Best to pre-empt the repetition, she thinks.

"Doctor," she tells him calmly, stepping forward and quietening him with an index finger to his lips. He stands there, blinking at her, and swallows beneath her touch. Their gazes lock intensely, and she fights to find the words in her mind before they get sucked into the void of his eyes. At the thought of the unfortunate turn of phrase, Rose suddenly sobers. "I've made my choice: I'm not goin' anywhere. I'm stayin' with you 'til the day I die. Tha's what you said, 'n' tha's what I've accepted, cos there's nowhere I'd rather be and no one I'd rather be sharin' it with. So before we step back inside the TARDIS, you're gonna promise me that you're never gonna ask me again, right? This is it. You an' me. No holdin' back."

He nods mutely, unable to deny her, and feels rather like he has just signed his soul away to the devil. The tiniest, most alien part of his psyche wonders if he has made the right choice. However, the next second it is quelled, as Rose's fingers begin to tickle lightly under his chin. He has to fight very hard against the temptation to close his eyes and push his lips against the finger that is still resting across his mouth. There's a time and a place, he tells himself firmly.

However, no matter how much self-berating he does, a small, incoherent growl – somewhere between a gasp and a gurgle – escapes from the back of his throat and his eyes flicker almost-shut. Everywhere she is touching him burns with a fiery passion that he had no idea was possible from such a simple caress. He supposes, idly, that this is what missing someone does to you, especially when you have nothing but memories to remind you of what they once were. Memories fade and wither, becoming corrupted or misinterpreted. A memory is just useless data – the real thing is much, much better.

Rose knows she has him when his head moves, ever so slightly, giving her the opportunity to slide her hand slowly along his jawline, making sure to take in every possible nook and cranny in his strong, defined cheek. His eyes are open, watching her. She wouldn't normally be this daring or this bold, but there is something about his reaction that is very, very enticing, and she wants to know how far he will let her go before –

He has a sensitive spot, almost exactly at the point where his jaw hinges to his lower cheek. Just below the stiff bone, tucked safely away out of normal reach, just under the surface of his skin, is a collection of highly responsive nerves. When one of Rose's fingers – he isn't exactly concentrating on which one – inadvertently applies a light pressure to the dip where these nerves are gathered as she glides over him, his eyes drift shut of their own accord and he takes in long, slow breaths, his mouth dropping a few millimetres to accommodate them.

Rose, at this point, does not understand his reaction, but is nonetheless entranced by it. She watches in wonder as his head twitches slightly and she notices, with some amusement, that he is turning his tongue over and over again in his mouth, behind his row of teeth.

"Oh," he breathes suddenly, startling both of them. Rose's hand pauses a moment, not that it was moving much in the first place. She watches with fixated interest as his breath hitches and she can see the physical rise of his chest as he holds it. His voice is quiet and almost husky, like he isn't quite in control of it. Without quite knowing why, Rose applies the tiniest of extra pressures with her fourth finger, which is resting somewhere beneath his jawline. The reaction is surprising – his entire body moves in a sort of motion that can only be described as 'upward' and he lets out the smallest of gasps. "Oh..." he repeats again, his voice shaken and choked with mounting desire. "That. Right... there. That's very good. _Very_ good. In fact – "

The rest of his sentence is cut short as Rose pushes further, delighted and excited by his shocking reaction to her touch.

His thoughts come crashing down on him simultaneously until he cannot think, can barely even breathe. There is just Rose and her fascinating, expert connection to him, and if he doesn't stop tying to think, his head and chest might actually explode with the thoughts and feelings careering down on him like a tsunami wave, building high and fast and teetering right above him.

In the same moment, he lets out the groan that has been mounting from the pit of his stomach, and relaxes his body, knowing only the woman who is doing this to him and how empty life has been without her.

He stumbles, losing his balance, as his legs forget how to hold him upright. The hand which has been splayed out over the door of the TARDIS suddenly has more pressure behind it and he begins to fall as the door creaks and swings. Opening his eyes, he grasps for the frame desperately to regain any form of control of himself. He blinks, swallows and shakes his head all in one motion, thought returning like a car hurtling down a motorway the wrong way. Vision returns where once it has been clouded and he looks at Rose, his hearts racing with panic and uncertainty.

She has a hand over her mouth, obviously trying to hide a smile – but it does her no good, as her amusement is leaking out of her in snorts of laughter. He cocks an eyebrow and, once he is quite sure that his legs can manage the impressive task of keeping him vertical, waves a warning finger at her.

He opens his mouth, meaning to lecture her for her laughing, but his thoughts begin to cloud him all at once and he can't quite pick one coherently. He smirks, mostly because he can't believe that she manages to tear away everything in him that makes him alien to her, leaving only animal instinct. Which is bizarre, he thinks, considering he is not evolutionarily related to any animals in the slightest. Unless he counts the human half on his mother's side, which may or may not have anything to do with the pump of blood and adrenalin that is now rushing desperately around his system.

He is still standing with a finger raised in the air several seconds later, his train of thought having sprouted wings and flown somewhere high up into the air. He blinks, confused, then brings his hand down.

He then clears his throat and glances down to the beach, highly thankful for the fact that he has always been good at hiding a blush if it came to it.

"Er... right," he offers weakly, stepping aside and showing the open doorway to the TARDIS. He holds out a hand to it. "Ladies... uhm... first, then?"

Rose snorts with further laughter at his incomprehensibility of his situations and takes her first steps into the TARDIS in four months.

Her dirty, muddy trainers echo around the console as she ventures forward, mouth agape, eyes wide and staring as she drinks in the scene around her.

The door creaks shut and closes with a small bang. She turns to see the Doctor standing just inside, watching her with a keen eye.

"You've redecorated," she says, looking around again. It isn't entirely different. There is still a grille floor and smooth, metallic walls – and of course, the control unit in the centre. But it is larger than she remembers it, and she is sure that there didn't used to be so many doors branching off as there are now. And rather than the bronzey, green glow she has been used to, there is a passionate, fiery red bathing the room instead, and the walls are silvery instead.

The Doctor folds his arms and sniffs thoughtfully. "It was more the TARDIS' decision than mine. She thought it was time for a change."

Rose turns back when she hears light footsteps falls softly along the metal floor as the Doctor walks towards the controls.

"How long has it been...?" she asks, watching him carefully.

He brings his head in a snap, his eyes meeting hers. He almost seems to shift uncomfortably, but he shakes it away with a small shrug. "About... two months after you left?"

"Oh." Two months? she thinks to herself. Just how long have I been gone?

"Hold on a jiffy."

The Doctor smiles shyly and dips his eyes again, keeping them on the floor as he stops by a panel in front of him. He reaches hand delicately to a dial, then brings his fingers down on a levered switch.

A soft, golden-green glow bathes the room once again. The walls sheen metallic bronze. He looks up. She is watching.

"There," he says tenderly, his eyes glittering in the dim light. "That better?"

"'S perfect."

Her answer is sincere and they smile at each other. Then the Doctor lifts a hand, beckoning her to his side. She complies in an instant and he watches her every step, only letting his gaze flick away when she is close enough to hear his quiet breath. He extends an arm not to her, but to the controls again. He taps momentarily at a keyboard before taking a few steps away, reaching for a large lever and a smaller but. He flicks switches and turns dials all in a sombre silence; Rose watches him because it is exactly this sort of thing that has been missing from her life for the past few months. It one time, she found it ordinary – almost mundane.

The doctor looks up and meets her eye. She smiles but he does not return it. Instead, he takes a laboured breath and turns it into a sigh.

"Ready?"

With just one word, he can ask her so many things. Is she sure? Does she want to go? Is it time? Is there anything she's forgotten? Is there anything she needs? Her mind fills with questions, but right at this moment in time, she cannot spend the time to think about any of them because she is simply thinking of him.

She nods her head. "Yeah."

"Then come here," he tells her. His voice is ever so slightly hinting on husky, but he swallows it back. He wants her to press the final control for two reasons: he is sure she has missed working with him, as he has so hurtingly missed her – he's never let her manoeuvre the TARDIS before and perhaps it will mean something. The second, more important reason, is that he isn't entirely sure he can take her away from the one place he knows she is safe.

Rose steps obediently towards him, and when she is close enough, the Doctor gives himself only a second to look at her before he reaches for her hand. Slowly, he guides it to the mainframe console, where his hand lingers on hers in the air above a lever.

She has been watching her hand grow steadily closer to the control, but at his seeming hesitation, she turns her head to look to him. He is watching her. There are tears in his red, tired eyes.

He always was good at hiding his tears. She has never seen him cry; not in any of the years she has known him. He has come close couple of times, she thinks, usually when she has been in danger. His symptoms are unseeable to the untrained eye – but to Rose, she recognises every one. Eyes wide enough to show something is not right, but not enough so to reveal the white around his irises. His pupils are dilated, large and black, giving him a pained, hollow look. His jaw is set, almost sunken, and his mouth is clasped closed as he looks on at an unfair world in silence. And still he watches her.

"You okay?" Rose asks tenderly, knowing that he is not.

He continues to look at her, mouth still, eyes concentrated. She does not know that he is wondering just how much time he will have with her this time. He knows these are not thoughts to be thinking now, but losing her again, after this... he's not sure he'll be able to keep going. In a way, perhaps it would have been better for death to have stolen her from him. He can't beat death, no matter what he says. His own, perhaps, for the moment, but not anyone he cares about. With death comes the release of letting go – when Rose was in the alternate universe, he couldn't let her go. Because she was still very much a part of him and if it wasn't dead, he was just empty without her. Death would have offered an end. Except that now, if he lost her again, he's not sure that even death would offer cold comfort.

Then again, he's not even sure he won't try and cheat death for her. If he lets himself care about her – anyone – that much, he will do absolutely anything to keep them alive. Cross his own time line to save her... is he beyond or above that? He isn't sure, and the thought scares him.

"I'm fine," he returns with a small smile and soft, blinking eyes. "You know that."

"...Yeah."

He still holds her hand over the leaver. "After this, there's no going back," the Doctor says, his voice suddenly entirely serious. "This lever goes down, and we're out of here. Back to our universe, back to the life we used to live all those years ago – "

He knows the instant he's said it that it's a mistake. He curses his stupid, stupid mouth for speaking ahead of his mind and reluctantly lets go of Rose's hand as she pulls it away. She stares up to him, mortified. A disbelieving frown buries itself in her forehead and she opens her mouth in a slight gape.

"_How_ long?" she demands, stepping back from him slightly. The Doctor takes in a nervous breath, but does not answer. "Doctor – _How long_?" Rose tries again, her voice hard. She does not mean to be angry – mostly, she it just shocked. She has no right to be angry, she supposes.

He meets her eye and Rose is frustrated that his face is unreadable. When he speaks, his voice is bland, void of emotion. "About... four years."

She feels something grab at her heart, squeeze down on it hard like it is a stress-relief mechanism. There is an aching pain that rises from somewhere in her stomach, and with it, a tide of nausea. Something uneasy prickles at the hairs on her back, travelling down to meet the rise of pain. Her chest tightens, making her breathing ragged. Her eyes unfocus for a moment, looking into empty space as she tries to fathom the sheer amount of time that has gone by for him. Did her muscles used to hurt like this?

The Doctor is at her side in a second, curling his long fingers around her upper arms.

"Rose?" There is worry in his voice, tainting it from its usual calmness. It begins to ebb when she meets his eye, but then something new greets him. His hearts want to reach out to her and drown her, because by the look on her face, she is suffering an unbelievable amount of pain.

Bravely, she fights it back – it is not her pain to deal with, she tells herself. "I'm fine," she sniffs after a moment, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. The Doctor almost laughs. "It's just... four years? I thought... I thought it would be the same, y'know? An' four months was bad enough. But... _years_." The look in her eyes intensifies and as a reaction, the Doctor loosens his grip on her arms. Her next statement is almost a whisper. "You never gave up. Four years, an' you still went on looking."

"It wasn't that long," he lies tenderly. Compared to the rest of his lifeline, it really isn't that long at all – the fact that it felt like forever, just an empty hollow in what used to be his life, means nothing now.

"Not that long? Doctor, how can you say that?"

"Well..." He isn't sure if he can tell her he only said it to make her feel better. "It's the truth. Compared to the sort of life I lead, four years really isn't anything to worry about."

She blinks. "Oh. Good, then... I s'pose."

The Doctor puts his head on one side and looks at her sympathetically. She is just close enough that he can reach for her hands, and he gently brushes his thumbs over the tops of them. He has to hide his amused smile – she tries so hard to do the right thing, even if it means ignoring how it is she really wants to feel, and it makes him care about her all the more.

"Rose," he says softly to get her attention. It works and her filmy eyes flick to him. "One month or sixty years – it wouldn't have mattered. I couldn't possibly have missed you any more than I did."

He supposes he should know her well enough by now to expect hugs out of nowhere. Her arms fling around his neck and her hands lose themselves in his hair, grasping desperately as she pulls him down to her level, nuzzling her nose to the side of his neck. He hugs her back, encasing her in his arms. He feels her tilt her head, feels damp on his neck again from her tears.

"Oh, Rose..." he tries to calm, hugging her close and breathing her in. "My beautiful Rose. Please don't cry. Not for me. Not like this."

"Doctor..."

He frowns – there is something on her breath that he has heard before. Reluctantly, he pulls back so he can look her in the eye. She is swallowing, mouth open, eyes looking up to the ceiling.

"I... I lo-"

He stops her instantly with a finger on her lips. His frown deepens and she looks at him, confused and just a little bit hurt.

"No," he growls, shaking his head slightly. Then he smiles gently and explains. "You've had your turn."

He carefully lowers his hand, trusting that she won't speak. She doesn't break his trust.

The Doctor licks his lips and looks down to her, his hearts racing. He can almost feel his blood pounding through every artery in his body. He feels a temperature switch somewhere, though whether it is the room or himself, he cannot tell.

The hand that has been resting on her back slides around to her waist, and then takes her hand. He looks almost worries as the words scream through his mind.

"Rose. Rose Tyler..." That look in her eye, that intense gaze that shows she is expecting something from him – he falters. He cannot give anything to her that she doesn't already have. He cannot offer safety or marriage or family or a life or children or old age or comfort or happiness or adventure. At this moment, he cannot even offer her love. He can offer death. Death is his gift to her. How can he offer her that? "I..."

There it is again: that small voice. In the back of his mind, chiding and sniping at him, malicious and devious. While the rest of his mind orders him to say the words she wants to hear and eh wants to say, the little voice cackles with malevolence. He can feel a shiver of worry spread down his back.

"...You _know_ I..."

A silence hangs in the air around them, spreading like mist on a bitter, wintry evening. Rose gives a little sigh, but tries to hide it. Perhaps, after all is said and done, he just can't say the words. Perhaps the universe explodes when the Doctor says... if he _was_ going to say that... She is pretty sure he was.

"Yeah. I know."

It is an empty victory as he feels her withdraw from him, watches as she begins to move away. He cannot let her leave like that, and thanks the great gods of the sky for the strength in him that lets him extend an arm and catch her by the hand.

"Rose, a man would have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to fall in love with you," he states and he tightens his grip tentatively on her hand. His soft eyes shine in the gentle light and he half-smiles his rueful words. "Yet here I am, all-powerful Time Lord, and I can't even get the words out."

Despite herself, despite the situation, her feelings, words left unsaid, she laughs. "Maybe it's that big head of yours gettin' in the way."

He grins. A real, lively grin as he pulls her to him in a gentle huge, resting his chin on her shoulder. He cannot count how often he has hugged her and he doesn't particularly want to – the number would come out far too dissatisfying.

"Oh, and stupid," he adds as an afterthought with a contemplative frown. He feels Rose's hand grip his shoulder blades harder. "He'd have to be pretty stupid, too."

"You've been stupid," she offers helpfully with a slight snort. He closes his eyes and laughs, holding her close in the embrace.

"Yes, I suppose I have. Still love you, though."

And there it is. Nothing big or fancy, no celebrations or fireworks, no meaningful looks or awkward moments. Give or take. He hasn't even realised he's said it until the words leave his mouth, because it feels so natural. He smiles to himself. Perhaps, in the end, that was all he needed. He needed the opportunity for it to become such a mundane part of him that he can tell her without the world crashing down around him.

Rose stills for a moment in his arms, and for an awful moment he wonders if he's done the wrong thing. But then she's hugging him again, heaving a small, contented sigh and cuddling her entire body to his. They stand, encircled in each other's warmth, long enough for time to get bored and drift away around them.

It is later, a unit of time neither of them could name, when Rose hovers over the lever that still hasn't been pulled. Her right arm is outstretched, her hand holding the Doctor's. He is standing a foot or two away, watching her. As her other hand pulls down on the lever, she turns her head. And as the TARDIS disappears from a reality that has brought unhappiness in its wake, the two travellers share a smile that lasts an eternity.

There is so much he has yet to teach her. There is so much she has to teach _him. _There are more adventures, more people, more ups, more downs, more victories, more losses. There is much more life out there for them to experience, and he will take her hand through it all as they run

He hopes they never will stop running. Though perhaps it would be fitting to end where they started.

Whatever awaits the Doctor and his Rose, each is sure of one thing. Just one thing.

It is waiting on the horizon.

**The End.**


End file.
